Oneshot: Eames Version 3.0 (Arthur/Eames)
Title: Eames Version 3.0
Author: sarahyyy
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1619
Summary: Before Arthur met Eames the Forger, he owned Eames the Dildo.
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own anything.
A/N: This is a fill for this prompt of 'Before Arthur met Eames, he had a dildo called, well, Eames' over at inception_kink. Um yes. I wrote it. >.< The tenth commenter gets a drabble thing still stands!
---------------------------
The first time Arthur ever owned a dildo was because Mal thought it would be funny.
“Everyone thinks you have a stick up your ass anyway,” she had said to him then, “A dildo would be much classier.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and stuck his middle finger out, ignoring her as she cracked up into peals of laughter.
But he kept the dildo anyway.
He didn’t know why he fucking did it; he just did.
--
The first time Arthur actually used the dildo Mal had so thoughtfully got him, he was drunk and horny and so fucking curious as to how to would feel like to stick it up his ass.
He drunkenly slicked the fucking thing with lube and all but shoved it up his ass. It’d hurt like fuck and it burned and burned and burned but he gritted his teeth and bore with it because he’d had worse (being stabbed in the heart with a stake was pain, tearing a few tissues in his ass was comparatively kid’s play) and if other people could fucking pleasure themselves with it, so could he.
He ended up giving himself the best orgasms of his life that night.
--
The next day he got a new -considerably bigger- dildo.
He named it Eames.
--
Eames version 3.0 was the best purchase he’d ever made in his life. (Granted, he’d said the same thing about Eames version 2.0 when he’d gotten it two months ago.) It was long and it was huge and it stretched him so wide open that he felt raw for days.
This particular night was no different from other nights. Arthur was fucking himself with Eames.
“God, Eames, Eames, Eames, Eames,” Arthur chanted as he fucked himself with the dildo brutally and fuck, naming his dildo Eames had been the best fucking idea he’d ever had.
Being the single syllable name that it was, Eames rolled off his tongue easily and wasn’t hard to moan or pant or purr when he was on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm.
He’d let his mind wander before. Had Eames been an actual human being, he’d probably be British, tall and handsome and had a way with words. Eames would fuck him into the bed or the floor or wherever else and make it feel so fucking good that Arthur would sob his name out and beg for more. Eames would grab his cock and jerk him off with slow, measured strokes in time with his cock sliding in and out of Arthur and Arthur would fucking come apart in his hands and love every bit of it.
With Eames version 3.0 still buried deep in his ass, Arthur came with a loud shout of “Eames”.
Best. Idea. Ever.
--
“Arthur, I need you to come to my place,” Mal said through the phone excitedly and Arthur frowned, pausing in the action of unbuttoning his shirt, “You need to meet the new Forger.”
Arthur sighed and agreed to be there in twenty.
He knew that picking the phone up when he was about to spend some time alone -or, well, some time with Eames- was a bad idea.
--
The new Forger, it’s turned out, was tall, tanned and fuck, covered with the most delectable looking tattoos.
“How do you do?” the man said politely and extended his arm out.
And fuck, he was British to boot.
He ignored the Forger’s hand in favour of eyeing him but trying not to let his eyes linger on the man’s fucking obscene looking lips.
“Arthur,” he finally offered, “Point Man.”
The forger’s lips stretched into a small smile as Arthur took a long sip of his coffee. “Eames,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just crumbled the very foundation of Arthur’s existence with just that single word, “Forger. Please to make your acquaintance.”
It took all of Arthur’s willpower not to pass out in horror. Instead, he choked on his coffee.
--
“I can’t work with him.”
“Why not?” Mal asked, sounding almost offended, “I like him!” Then almost as an afterthought, she added, “Have you heard his accent?”
Arthur most definitely had.
And he most definitely wasn’t turned on by it.
“I can’t work with him, Mal!” And that was the closest he was going to get to begging Mal to spare him from a whole lifetime of nightmares featuring his new colleague.
Mal only narrowed her eyes. “I don’t give a damn,” she hissed and although there was no malice in her voice, Arthur knew to feel scared, “Like him or I will make you.”
--
It turned out that Mal’s idea of making Arthur like Eames was to arrange for them to have lunch together alone under the pretence of her and Dom having to go out and get something done.
Arthur was determined to find a way out of his very…unusual predicament and so naturally, he asked, “Is Eames really your name or is there another name I can call you by?” He’d tried to even his voice out, but it sounded a tad bit desperate, even to himself.
Eames gave him a suspicious look. “I was told by the Cobbs that they won’t accept pseudonyms. If this is a test to see if I lied to them about my identity-”
“It’s not,” Arthur cut in quickly, impatiently. “Is there?”
Eames’ brows furrowed in confusion. “Is there what?”
“Another name I can call you by?” Arthur repeated in slight exasperation.
Eames’ eyes narrowed. “No,” he said calmly after a pregnant pause, “Eames is my real name and as a matter of fact, I happen to like it a lot.”
“Do you have a first name then?” Arthur asked, more hopeful than anything and he coughed awkwardly before adding professionally, “Just for the records, of course.”
Eames’ eyebrows shot up. “You really do have something against my name, don’t you darling?”
Arthur felt a flush trying to creep onto his cheeks and tried his best to suppress it. What he wasn’t able to suppress, though, was the funny sensation he felt right down to his toes when Eames’ used the endearment on him. “Well?” he asked, a single eyebrow arched.
Eames sighed. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but no. I come from one of those families in which people actually find it amusing to christen their offspring after the family name.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed sharply as he tried to process the ridiculous information. “So your name is Eames Eames,” he said slowly and tried not to blush when the name rolled off his tongue familiarly, “And your other siblings have the same name?”
Eames nodded solemnly.
Arthur gave him his best “I don’t buy your shit” look and Eames cracked a grin. “It’s a second son only thing.”
It’s when Arthur was at his apartment alone that night that he realized that he enjoyed Eames’ company entirely too much and there was something horrifyingly wrong with that.
--
Locking Eames version 3.0 away in a drawer, Arthur learnt that night, didn’t meant that the memories of him moaning Eames’ name when he came -even though fuck, he knew it wasn’t Eames’ name in particular he was actually moaning but a pretend person he’d made up in his mind, if that even made any sense- would too be locked tightly away in some subconscious drawer.
Locking Eames’ version 3.0 away in a drawer, however, did make him feel sexually discontented and the odds were that he would take out his sexual discontentment on Eames the Forger by, he didn’t really know, begging the man to fuck his brains out?
He shifted uncomfortably in his bed.
Fuck, he was in so much trouble.
--
“Do you know why Arthur has been hitting his head against the wall?” Dom asked, squinting.
“Eames,” Mal answered without even looking up from her magazine.
“Ah,” Dom murmured, “I should have known.”
Mal nodded. “It’s always Eames.”
--
Arthur snapped one day. “Is there anything else I can call you by? Childhood nickname? Or a pseudonym you particularly like? Or dude. Can I call you dude?”
Eames gaped at him. “You really do hate my name, don’t you?”
Arthur’s jaw remained stiff as he waited for Eames’ answer.
Eames frowned. “Eames isn’t that bad. Try it out. It rolls off the tongue brilliantly. Eames. Eames. Eames.”
Arthur flinched. How the hell did anyone make a name sound so dirty?
He tightened his fists. “If you do not cease doing what you are doing, I shall not be held responsible for what I might do to you.”
Eames raised an eyebrow expertly. “As far as threats go, this is the worst you’ve actually-”
Arthur growled before grabbing Eames’ neck and angling him down for a kiss. There was too much teeth and their noses bumped together awkwardly but fuck, it felt good.
Eames pulled away first. “What brought this on, darling?”
Arthur snarled and took two steps away from Eames. “Call me darling one more time and I will end you horrifically.”
Eames smirked. “But ah, what a way to go, isn’t it?”
Arthur ignored him in favour of trying to establish if he was still, in fact, sane, if he actually did what he did and why Eames wasn’t reacting properly to it. Why wasn’t Eames freaking out about being attacked by his colleague? Better still, why wasn’t Eames punching him in the face yet?
“I know this place down the street,” Eames continued conversationally, as though Arthur hadn’t just fucking molested him. “They serve good pasta. Join me for dinner?”
--
The next day, Arthur threw Eames version 3.0 away.
He had no use for it now that he had the real Eames.
Author: sarahyyy
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1619
Summary: Before Arthur met Eames the Forger, he owned Eames the Dildo.
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own anything.
A/N: This is a fill for this prompt of 'Before Arthur met Eames, he had a dildo called, well, Eames' over at inception_kink. Um yes. I wrote it. >.< The tenth commenter gets a drabble thing still stands!
---------------------------
The first time Arthur ever owned a dildo was because Mal thought it would be funny.
“Everyone thinks you have a stick up your ass anyway,” she had said to him then, “A dildo would be much classier.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and stuck his middle finger out, ignoring her as she cracked up into peals of laughter.
But he kept the dildo anyway.
He didn’t know why he fucking did it; he just did.
--
The first time Arthur actually used the dildo Mal had so thoughtfully got him, he was drunk and horny and so fucking curious as to how to would feel like to stick it up his ass.
He drunkenly slicked the fucking thing with lube and all but shoved it up his ass. It’d hurt like fuck and it burned and burned and burned but he gritted his teeth and bore with it because he’d had worse (being stabbed in the heart with a stake was pain, tearing a few tissues in his ass was comparatively kid’s play) and if other people could fucking pleasure themselves with it, so could he.
He ended up giving himself the best orgasms of his life that night.
--
The next day he got a new -considerably bigger- dildo.
He named it Eames.
--
Eames version 3.0 was the best purchase he’d ever made in his life. (Granted, he’d said the same thing about Eames version 2.0 when he’d gotten it two months ago.) It was long and it was huge and it stretched him so wide open that he felt raw for days.
This particular night was no different from other nights. Arthur was fucking himself with Eames.
“God, Eames, Eames, Eames, Eames,” Arthur chanted as he fucked himself with the dildo brutally and fuck, naming his dildo Eames had been the best fucking idea he’d ever had.
Being the single syllable name that it was, Eames rolled off his tongue easily and wasn’t hard to moan or pant or purr when he was on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm.
He’d let his mind wander before. Had Eames been an actual human being, he’d probably be British, tall and handsome and had a way with words. Eames would fuck him into the bed or the floor or wherever else and make it feel so fucking good that Arthur would sob his name out and beg for more. Eames would grab his cock and jerk him off with slow, measured strokes in time with his cock sliding in and out of Arthur and Arthur would fucking come apart in his hands and love every bit of it.
With Eames version 3.0 still buried deep in his ass, Arthur came with a loud shout of “Eames”.
Best. Idea. Ever.
--
“Arthur, I need you to come to my place,” Mal said through the phone excitedly and Arthur frowned, pausing in the action of unbuttoning his shirt, “You need to meet the new Forger.”
Arthur sighed and agreed to be there in twenty.
He knew that picking the phone up when he was about to spend some time alone -or, well, some time with Eames- was a bad idea.
--
The new Forger, it’s turned out, was tall, tanned and fuck, covered with the most delectable looking tattoos.
“How do you do?” the man said politely and extended his arm out.
And fuck, he was British to boot.
He ignored the Forger’s hand in favour of eyeing him but trying not to let his eyes linger on the man’s fucking obscene looking lips.
“Arthur,” he finally offered, “Point Man.”
The forger’s lips stretched into a small smile as Arthur took a long sip of his coffee. “Eames,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just crumbled the very foundation of Arthur’s existence with just that single word, “Forger. Please to make your acquaintance.”
It took all of Arthur’s willpower not to pass out in horror. Instead, he choked on his coffee.
--
“I can’t work with him.”
“Why not?” Mal asked, sounding almost offended, “I like him!” Then almost as an afterthought, she added, “Have you heard his accent?”
Arthur most definitely had.
And he most definitely wasn’t turned on by it.
“I can’t work with him, Mal!” And that was the closest he was going to get to begging Mal to spare him from a whole lifetime of nightmares featuring his new colleague.
Mal only narrowed her eyes. “I don’t give a damn,” she hissed and although there was no malice in her voice, Arthur knew to feel scared, “Like him or I will make you.”
--
It turned out that Mal’s idea of making Arthur like Eames was to arrange for them to have lunch together alone under the pretence of her and Dom having to go out and get something done.
Arthur was determined to find a way out of his very…unusual predicament and so naturally, he asked, “Is Eames really your name or is there another name I can call you by?” He’d tried to even his voice out, but it sounded a tad bit desperate, even to himself.
Eames gave him a suspicious look. “I was told by the Cobbs that they won’t accept pseudonyms. If this is a test to see if I lied to them about my identity-”
“It’s not,” Arthur cut in quickly, impatiently. “Is there?”
Eames’ brows furrowed in confusion. “Is there what?”
“Another name I can call you by?” Arthur repeated in slight exasperation.
Eames’ eyes narrowed. “No,” he said calmly after a pregnant pause, “Eames is my real name and as a matter of fact, I happen to like it a lot.”
“Do you have a first name then?” Arthur asked, more hopeful than anything and he coughed awkwardly before adding professionally, “Just for the records, of course.”
Eames’ eyebrows shot up. “You really do have something against my name, don’t you darling?”
Arthur felt a flush trying to creep onto his cheeks and tried his best to suppress it. What he wasn’t able to suppress, though, was the funny sensation he felt right down to his toes when Eames’ used the endearment on him. “Well?” he asked, a single eyebrow arched.
Eames sighed. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but no. I come from one of those families in which people actually find it amusing to christen their offspring after the family name.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed sharply as he tried to process the ridiculous information. “So your name is Eames Eames,” he said slowly and tried not to blush when the name rolled off his tongue familiarly, “And your other siblings have the same name?”
Eames nodded solemnly.
Arthur gave him his best “I don’t buy your shit” look and Eames cracked a grin. “It’s a second son only thing.”
It’s when Arthur was at his apartment alone that night that he realized that he enjoyed Eames’ company entirely too much and there was something horrifyingly wrong with that.
--
Locking Eames version 3.0 away in a drawer, Arthur learnt that night, didn’t meant that the memories of him moaning Eames’ name when he came -even though fuck, he knew it wasn’t Eames’ name in particular he was actually moaning but a pretend person he’d made up in his mind, if that even made any sense- would too be locked tightly away in some subconscious drawer.
Locking Eames’ version 3.0 away in a drawer, however, did make him feel sexually discontented and the odds were that he would take out his sexual discontentment on Eames the Forger by, he didn’t really know, begging the man to fuck his brains out?
He shifted uncomfortably in his bed.
Fuck, he was in so much trouble.
--
“Do you know why Arthur has been hitting his head against the wall?” Dom asked, squinting.
“Eames,” Mal answered without even looking up from her magazine.
“Ah,” Dom murmured, “I should have known.”
Mal nodded. “It’s always Eames.”
--
Arthur snapped one day. “Is there anything else I can call you by? Childhood nickname? Or a pseudonym you particularly like? Or dude. Can I call you dude?”
Eames gaped at him. “You really do hate my name, don’t you?”
Arthur’s jaw remained stiff as he waited for Eames’ answer.
Eames frowned. “Eames isn’t that bad. Try it out. It rolls off the tongue brilliantly. Eames. Eames. Eames.”
Arthur flinched. How the hell did anyone make a name sound so dirty?
He tightened his fists. “If you do not cease doing what you are doing, I shall not be held responsible for what I might do to you.”
Eames raised an eyebrow expertly. “As far as threats go, this is the worst you’ve actually-”
Arthur growled before grabbing Eames’ neck and angling him down for a kiss. There was too much teeth and their noses bumped together awkwardly but fuck, it felt good.
Eames pulled away first. “What brought this on, darling?”
Arthur snarled and took two steps away from Eames. “Call me darling one more time and I will end you horrifically.”
Eames smirked. “But ah, what a way to go, isn’t it?”
Arthur ignored him in favour of trying to establish if he was still, in fact, sane, if he actually did what he did and why Eames wasn’t reacting properly to it. Why wasn’t Eames freaking out about being attacked by his colleague? Better still, why wasn’t Eames punching him in the face yet?
“I know this place down the street,” Eames continued conversationally, as though Arthur hadn’t just fucking molested him. “They serve good pasta. Join me for dinner?”
--
The next day, Arthur threw Eames version 3.0 away.
He had no use for it now that he had the real Eames.